


Where They Are Now

by dancewhore



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-08 09:20:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4299309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancewhore/pseuds/dancewhore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They used to be best friends. Now their interactions are limited to silly staged banter during their concerts or to ‘being lads’ when the cameras are around. Louis likes to remember the times when their friendship was still real, their jokes and laughter and little touches still genuine."<br/><br/>Louis wants to fix things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> This is my first fanfiction in ages, so please bear with me!  
> I hope you have as much fun reading this as I did writing it :)  
> Shout-Out to my lovely beta reader [K](http://speakingwithink.tumblr.com). Thank you so much for putting up with me :)

Summer arrives with a length of lights  
Summer blows away.  
And quietly gets swallowed by a wave  
It gets swallowed by a wave.

(The Decemberists - Summer Song)

  
  
It’s been a week. It’s only been one goddamn week since the start of their break and Louis is already fed up. Fed up with waking up to the annoying sound of his phone, the shrill beep declaring the arrival of yet another unwelcome text message.  _Lol look at the news!_  commanded the little blue bubble on his first day off.  _Again?? Harry sure is enjoying his time off isn’t he?_ it declared the next day. And it hasn’t stopped since. Today marks the seventh day in a row and Louis feels like he might just snap at any moment.

Today is Monday and, as far as he can tell by the narrow rays of sunshine forcing themselves through the slits between his closed blinds, it’s going to be a beautiful midsummer’s day in London.  
Maybe it will be one of those sticky hot days that he despises and which, luckily, are so rare here in England. Or maybe it will be horribly humid all day, the air swollen with heat and carefree laughter and the smell of barbecues, before finally cooling down in the afternoon, sky turning quickly from a cloudless bright blue to gloomy grey and, ultimately, to a promising black, accompanied by lazily rolling thunder and fat heavy raindrops that will wash away the unbearable summer heat for the night.

Louis loves thunderstorms.  
Loves to sit on his broad cushioned windowsill and watch the rain pour down. Loves listening to the steady sound the drops make when they patter down on the pavement and against his windows. Loves to pick up on the changes in velocity and density. Loves breathing the smell of rain born from violent downpour.  
Sometimes he will have a cup of tea in his hands and a book in his lap, nothing too serious or demanding, just a light distraction to ease his stress; sometimes he will listen to music.  
Mostly though, he will just sit there and gaze in the distance and savour his little solitary moment because he hardly ever gets solitary moments when they’re on tour or in the studio.  
Louis lets out a deep sigh and starts feeling around for the reason of his awakening. It doesn’t take him very long to find his phone. He pauses, pondering if he should just switch it off and avoid the nuisance. But it might be something important after all?

Although, admittedly, it almost never is.  
Reluctantly, he glances at the screen and frowns when he sees that it’s a message from Stan. Again. Louis moans, fearing for the worst, before putting his thumb on the screen and sliding it to the right. _  
Another Victoria’s Secret model? How does he do it? He’s not THAT fit lol_  the message says.

And, for heaven’s sake, Louis has fucking had it. He told Stan he wasn’t interested in tabloid press news and ridiculous rumours during his time off. He was looking forward to this break, to being able to spend some quality time on his own without having to worry about anyone or anything.  
He was looking forward to binge-watching shows on Netflix, to taking hour long showers, to ordering greasy Indian take-ins without the fear of being told off by his personal trainer.  
Yes, he truly was looking forward to having a well-deserved break for once, because ever since their career took off he hasn’t really had the chance to just be and exist without a special purpose, without having to worry about his environment.

And now that this long-desired break has finally arrived, his best friend has taken a fancy to molesting him via text messages. To keep him updated about all the stuff he wanted to escape, all the petty and silly hearsay that he abhors so much. Everything could be perfect and calm and relaxing, but instead the first thing he has to hear (and fear!) in the morning is the arrival of yet another irksome message. Even when he turns off his phone or switches it to mute he’s still painfully aware of its existence.  
Within seven days he has grown to hate that fucking device, simply because it enables people to contact him. In one of his more insane moments Louis even thought about throwing it away, about destroying that fucking thing with his bare hands and going fucking AWOL, but then it dawned on him that it was no longer an option available to him.

Because — as much as it pains him to admit it — with fame there comes responsibility and he can’t just do whatever he pleases when there’s a string of consequences tied to his every action.  “Fuck’s sake”, he mutters, cramming his phone beneath his pillow. He decides to forget about Stan for now. After all, the week has barely begun. Better stop worrying, he tells himself and lets out a loud yawn before pushing his still sluggish body away from his bed. 

*

Powered by hunger Louis quickly finishes his shower and wraps a towel around his hips before stepping in front of the sink. Examining himself in the bathroom mirror above it, he decides against styling his hair and shaving his stubble.  
The media doesn’t know about his ‘bachelor pad’ (he hates that expression but he’s almost certain that that’s what they would call his flat if they knew about it) which is why the chance of getting papped around this area is almost non-existent.

Louis is well aware of his obligation to keep up appearances for the public (fuck Modest and their appearance clause), but he also likes the way he looks when he’s in more laid-back attire.  
And, fuck it, he’s on holiday after all, isn’t he?

Might as well wear sweatpants and unruly hair today.  He hangs the towel back on its peg and wanders to the massive closet in his bedroom. He exhales loudly at the sight of dishevelled piles of laundry he carelessly crammed into the drawers. The first thing he spots is a slim-fitting white shirt, so he pulls it out and puts it on. You can never go wrong with a simple white tee, is what Harry used to say, and Louis has to admit he’s right.

Fucking pit _,_ he thinks to himself while randomly pulling out clothes in quest of his favourite sweatpants: Classic Adidas; black, very snug and tight around his slim ankles. It takes him a couple of minutes until he spots the familiar white stripes and when he starts tugging at the material some clothes piled on top of it come undone and fall towards him.   
“Shit,” he sighs, throws his newly found pants on the bed and crouches down to gather the clothes.

For a brief moment he considers folding them and putting them back in all neat and tidy. But he knows there’s no point, so he just starts snatching up the clothes into a pile before shoving them back into the drawers.  
He’s about to bring his task to a finish when he spots a bright blue beanie between an assortment of coloured shirts. It looks oddly familiar but he somehow knows it’s not his, so he crouches back down to examine it. The fabric looks well-worn and Louis spots some brown hairs sticking to the blue fibres. When he picks it up to pluck them off he’s surprised at how nice and soft the material feels against his skin. He starts sliding his thumbs across it when suddenly a rush of memories come flooding his mind.

It is snowing and Harry is smiling at him, unkempt curls framing his face, their warm brown hue standing in stark contrast to the cool blue of the beanie. The memory feels so tangible that Louis almost expects to hear Harry’s voice calling out to him, but when he blinks the image of Harry is gone.

But Louis remembers now. The beanie used to be one of Harry’s favourites.  
About two years ago there was a time when he wore it almost daily, which was unusual for Harry who liked to change his headgear every other day.  
Louis can still recall the sulky face Harry pulled when he told Louis he had lost it. His genuine sadness made Louis’s heart ache. How did it end up in his closet? Did he pack it by mistake when he moved out of their place?

He feels bad for having caused Harry sorrows, but he knows that he’ll be able to make up for it by returning the beanie. Harry isn’t resentful and somehow Louis can just picture how Harry is going to react.

First, he will take his sweet time to realise what he’s looking at. It’s not because he’s slow, he really isn’t, but because he didn’t expect to ever see his beloved beanie again. Then he will look up, look at Louis, his mouth slightly agape, before breaking into one of his huge, goofy smiles. It’s the mere thought of Harry’s happy throaty laughter that makes Louis grin.

Should he call him now and arrange a meeting? But they’re only a week into their break … and he’s going to see him soon enough, right? They’re good mates after all, so why wouldn’t they?  
His thoughts start to wander back to Stan’s message, but he quickly dispels them — it’s only gossip after all, isn’t it? — and steps in front of his bedroom mirror.  

His hair is almost dry now and he has to admit he looks kind of good when it’s all tousled. His gaze wanders to Harry’s beanie which is still clutched in his right hand.   
They used to share clothes a lot back then. Louis remembers how, during the first winter in their new flat he would lounge about the house dressed in nothing but boxers and Harry’s huge cozy hoodies to keep him warm.

Now it’s all about Nick Grimshaw and Harry sharing tacky shirts, he thinks, and the thought sounds so bitter in his head that he can’t help but feel embarrassed at his own pettiness.

*

Twenty minutes later he’s seated in one of his favourite breakfast places.  
It’s a simple O’Neill’s Pub and quite touristy, but he enjoys sitting there unnoticed, watching all these people with their more normal lives.  
By now the staff know who he is, so they avoid calling him by his name like they do with the other regular customers.

Agata, his favourite waitress, greets him upon entering.  
“The usual?”, she asks and Louis gives her the thumbs up.  
His stomach has started to growl audibly some time ago so as soon as Agata put down his Full Irish and left the table he starts gobbling it down. Soon enough the space surrounding his plate is covered in crumbs and drops of sauce. He smiles when he remembers Harry telling him off for always causing a mess during mealtimes. How long has it been since they last shared a proper meal together? He doesn’t know.  

Harry used to make breakfast for them, back when they still lived together.  
Louis loved Harry’s breakfast. Still does.  
He should probably text him and ask for one, he might be in luck and get an invitation. O’Neill’s might serve a great Full Irish, sure, but it can’t compete with the  _Hazza Special_  as Louis used to call Harry’s enormous greasy fry-ups with a side of fresh seasonal fruit. 

“Why did you put fruit in my breakfast, Harold?”, Louis asked the first time Harry had cooked breakfast for him, piqued by the big cup of berries and banana slices placed next to his rashers of bacon.  
“I didn’t put it in your breakfast, I put it next to it. There’s a difference, love. And I did it because fruit’s good for you. It’s not like you’re eating a balanced diet otherwise. Now eat up, please,” Harry said, face stern, brows furrowing, his throaty voice turning more serious with each word.  
Louis didn’t reply. Instead, he impaled one of the strawberries and started sniffing it warily, all the while throwing sombre glances at Harry. Harry had tried to maintain his stern face while watching Louis putting on an overly dramatic show, but soon enough he had started giggling happily at the ridiculous display in front of him.

Sometimes, when Harry felt especially nurturing, he would get up early, prepare breakfast and a pot of Louis’s favourite tea, put everything onto a big tray and carry it to Louis’s room.  
He would knock, very softly, so as not to startle Louis who’s a light sleeper and upon Louis’s croaking “Yes, come in!” he would open the door, sporting a bright goofy smile.  
“Surprise!”, he’d say, wiggling his brows and shaking his hips, before carefully bringing the overflowing tray over to Louis’s bed. Louis would grin sluggishly, the remainders of sleep still occupying his every muscle, and shuffle aside so Harry could sit next to him.  
They would turn on the TV and watch whatever trash-tv-show was on at that time of the day, preferably Judge Judy. Louis sometimes poked fun at Harry’s “odd motherly love” for him, because really, Harry’s younger than Louis, so shouldn’t Louis be the nurturing one in their flat share? 

“Anything else, dear?”, Agata’s voice next to him asks and Louis immediately returns from his trip down memory lane.  
How long has she been standing there? He blinks. His stomach feels weird.  
Agata is still looking at him expectantly.   
“I’m fine, thanks,” he replies, before gathering up his stuff.

*

It started to rain soon after.  
It’s only five in the afternoon but the sky is almost black and the rain sounds heavy and relentless against Louis’s windows.

He’s resting on his favourite windowsill, the one in his living room next to a giant rubber tree that his mum got him as a house warming present. A while ago he decided to make the sill and the area surrounding it more comfortable, so he bought some fluffy green pillows and a thick blanket to put on top of it. There’s a tiny bookcase next to the sill, quite minimalistic — just as the rest of his flat, save for the chaos — which holds only his most favourite books.

On top of the shelf sits a little candle which he nicked from Harry’s room before he moved out. Harry once said that the smell of his favourite candle always conjured the atmosphere of being at home, and although he would never admit it Louis has always liked that idea. 

The candle is burning next to him now, his arms crossed behind his head while he stares up to the dark sky. Coldplay is playing softly in the background, but the sound of thunder and rain makes the music almost inaudible.  When he got home from the pub he quickly checked his phone which he had left under his pillow.

There were a couple of messages in the band’s group chat and he went through them to see whether there was anything important amongst them. Liam had suggested they could meet for a joint pub night this week, but when it came to finding a suitable date things got complicated.  
Niall had gone home to Ireland and wasn’t sure when he’d be back whereas Harry hadn’t replied at all, so Louis texted  _Any day’s fine for me!_  to make things easier for Liam.

Besides, it’s not like he had anything planned for this week, so he might as well pop down to the pub and have a nice pint or two. He’s going to Ibiza with Niall next Tuesday so he intends to keep a low profile until then.

Better not anger the management, he thinks, not without a touch of bitterness.

His phone buzzes and he quickly checks to see whether Harry has replied, but there’s still nothing. Instead, a new message from Liam says  _Harry u busy with ur new angel?_  and Louis can’t help but grin at that.  
Making fun of Harry and his frequently alternating shags is one of their favourite things to do because it’s just incredibly easy to wind Harry up when it comes his ‘relationships’. Louis briefly wonders how serious it is this time. How long will it last? A week? A month? He could just ask him, he thinks, but then it dawns on him that they haven’t talked about personal stuff in a while. 

Louis stares at his chat overview, thumb hovering over Harry’s name.  
The app’s preview tells him that Harry’s latest message to him was sent last Thursday.  _K_ , is all it says and Louis’s lips tighten. They used to be best friends. Now, their interactions are limited to silly staged banter during their concerts or to ‘being lads’ when the cameras are around. Louis likes to remember the times when their friendship was still real, their jokes and laughter and little touches still genuine. He’s not usually one to dwell on the past but it’s a weird day and he’s in a weird mood and he misses being best mates and having game nights and hosting parties at their house, so he taps Harry’s name and starts typing out a new message. 

 _U okay baby cakes? up for a round of mario kart at mine?,_ he writes and quickly hits Send so he doesn’t have time to change his mind. For a couple of minutes he just sits there and stares at his phone, his mind conjuring an answer from Harry.   
“Shit,” he mumbles, slapping his hands flat against his face when he realises that he’s acting like a silly teenager.   
“It’s not like I am going to get an answer anyway,” he mutters and places his phone beneath one of the pillows. 

Out of sight, out of mind is what they say, isn’t it? Just at that moment a vivid flash of lightning splits the sky and illuminates Louis’s face. He halts, fascinated by the sudden vehemence of rain pelting against the windows, his phone momentarily forgotten. 

“I didn’t take you for that kind of a guy,” Harry said, startling Louis who was gaping at the heavy rain which had been tormenting London for almost a week.  
It was shortly after they had moved in together and Louis had just listlessly begun unpacking one of his moving boxes when he got distracted by the bright flashes outside.  
“What do you mean?” he replied, gazing up at Harry who was leaning in his door frame, arms crossed in front of him, head tilted towards the windows.  
“I didn’t think you’d be one to enjoy thunderstorms. Don’t know. You’re so tanned I just assumed you’d love to go out and roast those skinny legs of yours,” Harry simply said.  
He didn’t look at him but Louis could hear the amusement in his voice, barely hidden beneath the casualness of his statement.  
“Fuck off,” Louis answered, laughing. “I love watching the rain. And you’re not one to judge, Harold. You’re probably watching porn all day. Naughty little shit you are!”  
Harry turned around, fake astonishment written all over his face. “What!? I am not!” he exclaimed, grabbing one of the pillows Louis had just unpacked and chucking it at him, hitting Louis right in the face.   
“Hey!” Louis laughed, “that’s not fair, I haven’t unpacked yet, there’s no stuff to throw!”  
“Boohoo, cry me a river,” Harry answered with a broad grin.  
Louis looked at him, eyebrows raised, lips pressed into a very tight line, fighting the urge to grin back.   
“You need any help?” Harry said and glanced around the chaos in Louis’s room. “I finished unpacking my stuff hours ago. I can’t believe you haven’t even assembled your bed yet. Where you gonna sleep tonight?”  
“I was hoping I could sleep in yours, Hazza. You can take the couch so it’s no homo?” Louis answered, wrinkling his nose in fake disgust.  
Harry flashed him another grin.  
“You wish. C’mon, I’ll give you a hand!”   
“Or we could just go to your room and play Mario Kart? Please? I’m exhausted! And bored! Please, Harry! I’m gonna finish my room later, promise!”, he whined while throwing Harry his finest pout.   
“Louis Tomlinson, you are a lazy shit!” Harry declared with a laugh, shaking his head.  
“Pretty please, Harry?” Louis said while adding puppy-dog-eyes to his pout.  
Harry stared back at him, his brows furrowing. “Hmmm … Later then?”  
“Yes, later! I promise!” His voice sounded so excited that Harry couldn’t help but laugh.   
“Alright. Let’s go.”  

They never finished Louis’s room that day.   
Instead the afternoon was spent playing Mario Kart and ordering pizza.  
Later, Harry insisted on watching Titanic and even though Louis loved that movie just as much as Harry did he couldn’t resist the urge to tease Harry, poking him and turning off the TV whenever Harry seemed especially relaxed or taken in.  
“Louis! No!” Harry screamed when Louis turned off the TV during one of Harry’s favourite scenes.  
“Haha!” Louis exclaimed but his triumphant laughter was muffled by a pillow that hit him in the face.   
“Oi!”  
“Hand over the remote!”  
“Never!” Louis yelled and jumped off the bed.  
Harry grabbed another one of his pillows and chucked it at Louis, but he ducked down just in time, losing the remote in the process. Harry threw himself at it and snatched it up before Louis got the chance to do so. He let out a delighted laugh and Louis grabbed the pillow to start hitting him with it.   
“Give it back or else!”  
“Or else what?”  
“I’m gonna tickle you!”  
“NO!” Harry shrieked, trying to crawl away, but Louis was quicker.  
He grabbed Harry by the hips, pushed him down and started tickling him until Harry squirmed and squealed and tears of laughter rolled down his cheeks.     
“Oh my god stop, please! You win, you win! STOP, Louis, please!” he huffed out between pained laughter until, finally, Louis let go of him.   
“That’ll teach you!” Louis declared and nabbed the remote out of Harry’s hands.  Harry threw him a sombre glance, climbed back into his bed and wrapped himself into a blanket.  
“Asshole!” he muttered, which made Louis erupt into laughter because Harry hardly swore.

Harry tried pouting at him, but Louis could sense the beginning of a smile tugging at the outer corner of his lips.  
“Awww, I’m sorry, pal. Won’t happen again. Promise?” he offered when he noticed Harry’s inner dispute over the situation.  
“Wanna kick my ass on Mario Kart?”    
Harry looked at Louis, brows furrowing now.  
“Alright”, he finally said, his pout not fully gone yet.  
  
So Louis climbed back into bed, swaddled himself in the other blanket and let Harry win every single game because he’s nice like that and also because he didn’t like grumpy Harry.

When at some point they grew bored of the game they started watching Judge Judy and it didn’t take long for the mood in the room to change from simply amused to all-out effusive with both of them trying to outbid each other’s jokes.   
Louis almost died of laughter when Harry screamed at one of his own jokes, clapping his hands boisterously.  
“You look like a fucking seal!” Louis shrieked while imitating Harry’s clapping, which sent Harry into another outburst of hysterical giggles.   
Their jokes became more and more ridiculous somewhere along the line, but they had goaded each other so much it didn’t matter anymore.   

As the evening progressed they grew tired and eventually, their laughter started to die down.   
“‘m tired,” Harry mumbled and turned his body towards Louis.   
“Little wuss,” Louis answered with a smile but turned off the TV.   
“We didn’t do your room,” Harry said, his voice sluggish, his eyes closed.  
“Gonna have to do it tomorrow then.”  
“Knew it … you planned this all along.”   
Louis grins. “You know me too well, pal.”  

For a while they both lay there, listening to the rain.  
Sometimes one of them would say something, but the conversations would never go anywhere, didn’t have to, really, because the silence prevailing between them was one of those comfortable ones born from exhaust.  
Soon enough all that could be heard was the howling sound of strong west wind and relentless rain against the windows.  
Harry dozed off first and Louis lay next to him, wrapped in one of Harry’s massive white blankets which felt so nice and heavy against his tired body, the clean smell of detergent lulling him in.   
Exhaust tugged at the corners of his mind and as the minutes went by Louis felt himself falling asleep to the soothing sound of Harry’s breathing.

He’s raised out of his sleep by a weird noise.  
The rain is still pattering against the glass and he looks to his left, trying to spot Harry — because doesn’t that weird noise startle him, too? — when he realises that Harry’s not there, that he was tricked by a memory.   
The ghost of his dream is still misting his mind and it takes him a couple of seconds to comprehend that the weird noise he hears is caused by his buzzing phone. Blinking away the haze on his eyes he pulls it out from behind his pillows. His sleepiness, however, is instantly forgotten when he looks at the screen.

 _Harry_ , the bold white letters say, and really, Louis didn’t expect this.  
Didn’t expect to hear from Harry at all, let alone get a call.

“Harry? You alright?” he asks after picking up, trying to contain the surprise in his voice.  
“Yeah, hi. Sorry, I’ve been busy. You still up for game night? It’s kinda late now but I’m in the area. I could get us some take-away? Indian maybe?”

He sounds tired, his pronunciation more slurred than usual and Louis briefly wonders whether he should decline and let him get some rest.

“Sound, mate! Come over whenever, yeah?” he hears himself saying, selfish as he is.  
“Alright. See ya in a bit then.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter!  
> Thanks again to my beta [K](http://speakingwithink.tumblr.com).  
> Hope you enjoy :)

When the doorbell rings thirty minutes later Louis feels his stomach twist. It’s been so long since the two of them hung out together. What if there’s nothing to talk about? What if Harry’s bored and decides to leave so he can meet his ‘girlfriend’? What if -   
   
His derailing train of thought is stopped when the bell rings a second time. Louis scurries to the door and halts, his fingers hovering over the door handle. Calm down, he tells himself. It’s gonna be fine. He pushes down the handle and opens the door. A big smile sneaks over his face as he looks at Harry, his worries instantly forgotten.  
   
“Ah, the man of the hour!” he exclaims, dropping a curtsey and motioning Harry in with a theatrical wave of the arm.   
“Aww Louis, you cleaned your flat? You shouldn’t have,” Harry says upon entering, flashing a broad smile at the sight of Louis’s chaotic hallway.   
“You know me, pal. I spare no efforts,” Louis’s voice sounds just as sarcastic. Harry laughs and stretches out his hand. When Louis grabs it he gets pulled into one of Harry’s warm bear hugs.   
“No need to get all sentimental on me,” he murmurs, but sinks into the hug anyway. “It’s only been a week!”   
“I know, but we haven’t done this in forever!” Harry replies, giving Louis a final squeeze before he releases him.   
Louis’s smile softens. “You’re right.”   
Sappy thoughts start pooling into his mind and for the fraction of a second he considers telling Harry how he misses hanging out with him, but then he thinks better.   
He’s in no position to do so, not after all that happened.   
“Let’s set the table, shall we?” he suggests instead.   
“Great,” Harry replies and starts walking towards the kitchen.

**

Ten minutes later they sit on Louis’s massive bed, plastic bags and take-away containers spread in front of them, Judge Judy playing softly in the background.   
Harry clicks his tongue. “I’d hardly call this a table. Can we at least use proper dishes?”  
“Ahh, you know me, pal,” Louis grins, “why use dishes when there’s silicone trays? I can just throw them away later. No rinsing needed. Let mother earth take care of my trash.”  
Harry shakes his head in response. “You’re irresponsible.”  
“Well, I guess some things never change then,” he mutters to himself, fully aware that there’s an edge to his voice. Harry, however, doesn’t respond to it. Or maybe he hadn’t caught it. Who knows with that boy?   
“Let’s see what we’ve got here, shall we?”  
“You do the honours,” Harry answers and starts to push the containers over to Louis. He doesn’t seem offended by Louis’s earlier comment in the slightest. A feeling of relief washes over him. He’d almost forgotten how affable Harry could be. Way too polite to easily take offence at his snarky remarks.  
Under Harry’s watchful glance Louis starts to remove the containers’ lids. Much to his delight Harry went all out on the menu: Onion bhajis, vegetable samosas, butter chicken for Louis and vegetable korma for himself.   
   
Once he’s finished he turns to look at Harry, his eyes wide.  
“You like it?”   
“Like it? I love it! I haven’t had Indian in ages!”  
Harry smiles. “That reminds me …,” he mumbles and starts rummaging through the plastic bags that are still strewn all over Louis’s bed.   
“Ah!” he finally says as he finds the one he’s looking for. He pulls out two plastic cups which are filled with seemingly viscous orange fluid.  
“To mark the occasion!”   
   
With a cheery smile he hands Louis one of the cups. Louis ogles it warily before he takes off the lid to sniff it. It only takes him a couple of seconds to figure out what exactly he’s holding there. He turns to look at Harry who’s been watching him expectantly.  
“A mango lassi? Are you for real? You couldn’t just buy beer like a normal person?”   
“But I like mango lassis! And they’re healthy!” Harry pouts.   
“You do know they probably didn’t even use proper mango for these?”  
“Sure did! I saw them prepare it. The restaurant’s really nice actually, all organic. I looked them up.”   
Louis snorts with laughter. “Only you would care about your take-away being ‘all organic’.”  
Harry throws him a blank look. “Instead of mocking me,” he says, his voice sombre but his glance soft, “you could just say your thank yous and appreciate me taking such good care of you. Now eat up, please.”   
“Alrighty then, bossy-pants. Calm down.” Louis raises his hands in self-defence. “Let’s see whether organic really is better, shall we?"

**

“That was really nice, Harry. Thank you very much for taking care of me. It’s greatly appreciated.”

Harry snorts as he shakes his head, and Louis can see the big smile plastered on his face.   
“The cheek of you.”  
   
Louis is about to respond when a bolt of lightning illuminates the dark sky next to his bed, making both their heads turn to the window in unison. From his bedroom Louis can see the River Thames and although he should be used to the view by now he finds himself momentarily speechless at the sight in front of him.    
“I forgot you can see Chelsea Bridge from here,” Harry murmurs. “It’s so beautiful.”  
Louis nods in awe. The lamps of Chelsea Bridge paint rainbow lights on the black waters below them, stirred only by the constant rain hitting the surface. There’s a million lights along the riverside, too, which reflect just as exquisitely.   
It’s breathtaking.   
   
Out of the corner of his eye he can see Harry who’s on all fours now, fingertips placed in front of his knees, balancing out his body weight. The majority of his long brown curls rest in the back of his neck, save for one strand which frames the left side of his face. His eyes are wide and his mouth is slightly agape. The look of sheer astonishment written all over his face makes him appear younger. And also, as Louis can’t help but notice, utterly defenceless and vulnerable.   
   
The sudden realisation makes his stomach curl. Harry used to be like that when they lived together. Unguarded. An open book, at least to Louis.  
For a brief moment he allows himself to believe that there’s no history between them, that nothing has changed, that the last months haven’t happened.   
That everything is still okay between them.  
Can we please go back, Harry? he wants to ask and he’s about to open his mouth to say the words when another flash splits the sky, its sound visibly startling Harry, and just like that the moment’s gone.  
   
The sudden silence feels weird. It might be Louis’s imagination, but there seems to be an almost tangible tension between them.  
“That storm, huh,” he offers in his need to chase it away. He’s fully aware of how stupid he sounds. “Which reminds me. How did you get here? Did you take a cab?”  
Harry doesn’t respond immediately, his eyes still glued to the window. Louis watches carefully as he slowly sinks back into a kneeling position.  
“Yeah …,” Harry murmurs, still not fully present, “didn’t fancy getting all soaked.”  
“Ah,” Louis hums with a little nod. “Why were you in the area anyway?” 

The question was meant to sound casual but of course his voice plays a trick on him, the plain nosiness of his question making him cringe.   
When exactly did he become such an awkward mess?  
Luckily, though, Harry is kind enough not to take any notice.  
“I went shopping with a friend. Didn’t find anything nice though.”  
“Maybe you should stop looking in the women’s departments?” Louis teases.   
Harry snorts. “Shut up! Things from there fit me better.”  
“Ha,” Louis mutters, his voice suspiciously snarky, “fancy that. I hadn’t noticed.”   
There’s a slight tense pause during which Harry looks at Louis blankly, but Louis doesn’t feel like elaborating on the topic. Instead, offers him a tight smile.   
“Well, I’m sure you’ll have better luck next time! Maybe try the guys’ departments then.”   
Harry still stares at him. “Yeah. I might.”  
   
Louis clears his throat in an attempt to chase away the awkward silence.   
“So,” he begins as he plucks at some dry skin next to his thumbnail, “are you coming down to the pub with us this week?”  
“Oh.” Harry seems surprised. “Yeah. Sure. Can do. When?”   
“Alright? I mean, you don’t have to? We haven’t set a date yet but if you don’t want to you can just say so.”   
“No, um, sorry. I didn’t —. Like, it wasn’t —,” Harry mumbles, casting down his eyes as he starts running his fingers through his long curls.  
“It’s just a pub night so no one’s gonna be mad at you if you can’t make it, you know?”   
Slowly, Harry lowers his hand, leaving the front part of his hair all tousled. As he raises his face to meet Louis’s glance a few strands come undone. Louis has to stifle a whimper when he notices the torn look on Harry’s face. Unfortunately, the loose strands covering Harry’s face only add to his look of utter fragility.   
He can feel his stomach twist at the sight.  
   
“Go on?”   
He’s got the faint hope that maybe the feeling in his stomach will subside once he knows the reason Harry seems troubled. Once that pained expression on his face is gone. Although, all things considered, a heartfelt confession made by a vulnerable looking Harry Styles will probably make it worse. Who knows, Louis might even develop an ulcer. A Harry Styles ulcer. What kind of treatment would he need for that one?   
His musing is interrupted when Harry clears his throat. Immediately, Louis turns his attention back to the curly mess next to him.  
  
“It’s just,” Harry finally murmurs, “I wasn’t sure whether I’m welcome or not.”  
There’s a brief pause during which Louis tries to process what he’s just heard.  
“Wha — That’s ridiculous! Why wouldn’t you be? You’re one of us!”   
“I know, but, like —” Harry pauses, stroking back some of the loose strands while throwing a  hesitant glance at Louis, “I know the four of us haven’t really hung out that much these last couple of months. Unless you count business meetings, of course.”  
   
He stops again as if he wants to check whether Louis is still with him.  
“And I don’t!” he says with more vigour than necessary. “Count business meetings, I mean. It’s just — Blimey, I don’t know, I feel like maybe you guys lost interest in me, what with our different interests and all that. And I know you’ve been out with Niall and Liam quite a lot and I haven’t and —“  
Louis raises his hands. Momentarily, Harry falls silent.   
“Okay! Stop! That’s enough.”   
Harry stares at him, his expression blank.

“Sorry, but seriously. You need to stop. And by the way: ‘Blimey’? Who are you, Ron Weasley? Oh Harold, you do make me laugh sometimes.”  
“Stop taking the piss, I was being serious!” Harry declares, his cheeks reddening.   
“I know you were, you muppet, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re being ridiculous. Did you honestly think that we wouldn’t want you with us anymore because you’re into snazzy boots and organic juices now? Did you genuinely think that?”  
   
Harry seems to consider his response carefully before, finally, he murmurs, “Yes. Yes, I guess I did.”  
“Harry Styles!” Louis howls. “Get out!”  
Harry starts stroking back some more loose strands as he throws Louis an unassertive glance.  
“So you still want me to come out with you?”   
“Of course we want you to! Don’t you dare question our friendship over silly things like that. It’s going to be nice, just us lads having a pint or two. No business talk allowed. They might even serve cranberry juice or whatever you’re drinking these days. This might become a regular thing during our break!”  
At that, Harry starts to beam. Louis can feel the familiar tug in his stomach region again, but it doesn’t feel entirely unpleasant this time.   
“Okay then. I’ll text Liam right away.”  
“You do that,” Louis replies with a little smile. “And I meant what I said, okay? Don’t ever question our friendship again, alright?”   
Harry nods, prompting Louis to reach out and ruffle his hair. “Good boy.”   
   
Much to his surprise, Harry closes his eyes and starts to lean in closer to him. Apart from his hand in Harry’s hair there’s no physical contact, but he can still feel the heat radiating from Harry’s body. His brown curls feel soft under at his touch and Louis can smell the faint scent of his shampoo. He wants to lean in closer, too. Wants to bridge the gap between them, but the tug in his stomach becomes more prominent by the second, so he lets go.  
   
Harry exhales softly. “That was nice. Haven’t done that in ages, have we?”  
Not my fault, Louis thinks, but he knows better than to voice this thought.  
“You know what else hasn’t happened in ages?” he asks auspiciously.  
Harry turns to look at him, his eyes wide.   
“Tell me?”   
“You making me breakfast!”   
Harry starts laughing. “You’re right! How about a breakfast date next week?”   
The bright smile now occupying Harry’s face causes his pulse to quicken.   
There’s one problem, though.  
“I won’t be here next week. Niall and I are going to Ibiza.”  
“Oh,” Harry says, his face falling. “How about the week after then? We could throw in a movie night the night before so I can serve you a proper breakfast in bed?”  
Louis gives a thoughtful nod. “Not bad, Styles,” he tells him. “I like your thinking.”   
“Great! So the week after Ibiza. Don’t get too drunk there, yeah? You’re always such a mess and I won’t be there to take care of you.”  
   
Right. Because you taking care of me worked out so well for us, he wants to say but doesn’t.   
“I think Niall is the one you should be worried about!” he mutters instead. “That little leprechaun can sink sangria like nobody’s business.”  
Harry snorts with laughter. “Don’t act like you’re some kind of saint. We’ve all seen how well you can handle your drinks.”  
There’s no innuendo in Harry’s statement, so Louis refrains from bringing up Wellington and Harry’s ‘ability’ to handle drinks.   
When did he become so good at biting his tongue anyway? Must have something to do with his ulcer.  
“You’re on a roll today. Have you quite finished?”  
“Awww, don’t be such a grump!” Harry gives him a little pat on the back. “How about we settle this during our pub night this week? Which reminds me, I need to get my phone so I can let Liam know I’m in. Be right back!”  
With that, Harry springs to his feet and scurries to Louis’s clothes hook in the hallway. Seconds later, there’s a loud bang as Harry trips over a pile of sneakers which occupies the majority of the hallway’s floor. Louis bursts into laughter.  
“How are you so clumsy?” he calls.  
“How are you so messy?” Harry shouts back.   
“No one here to clean up after me!”   
Harry’s appears in the doorframe, rubbing his forehead. “Good one,” he says with a grin as he walks back to the bed.  
“I was wondering — You fancy watching a movie now? I’m not really tired and —”  
“Say no more!” Louis takes the remote from his bedside table.   
“Titanic?”   
The wide smile on Harry’s face says it all.

**

“Not tired my ass,” Louis mutters about fifteen minutes later when he catches the soft sound of Harry’s snoring. Harry’s on his back, one hand resting on his chest, the other one tucked behind his curly head. Peaceful, Louis thinks and tries to ignore his ulcer which is acting up at the sight of sleeping Harry.   
He turns off the TV before pulling the duvet up to his nose.   
This is progress, he thinks. Real progress.  
Harry visiting him today, both of them making plans for movie night and breakfast — Suddenly, the notion of becoming proper best friends again doesn’t seem too farfetched anymore.   
   
The rain doesn’t stop that night and once again Louis finds himself falling asleep to the sound of Harry’s even breathing.   
When he wakes the next morning Harry is gone. In his place there sits a little silver tray carrying a bacon buttie and a bowl of sliced strawberries. A smile starts to spread over Louis’s face when he spots the little sticky note attached to the bowl. Harry’s clumsy scrawl hasn’t changed one bit.    
   
_Sorry, something came up :(_  
 _I know it’s not exactly a Hazza Special, but at least it’s organic._  
 _So eat up and enjoy!_  
 _Looking forward to lads night!_  
 _\- H_  
   
Louis's smile widens.  
It’s going to be a good day.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working on the next chapter right now so it should be finished soon!  
> x


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